Hidden
by Harlow Groom
Summary: There's something wrong with Ginny. It's supposed to be all over, isn't it? Tom Riddle is gone and dead. Ginny's fine... isn't she? Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of it's characters etc. **MAJOR WARNING FOR NON-CON & SIMILAR THEMES**
1. Chapter 1

Ginny walked into her room and breathed a sigh, relieved that it was finally bed time. Her room was very simple: a bed under the window, a chest of drawers, with a hand decorated trinket box on top, and a mirror hanging just above. It wasn't much, but it was hers and she adored that feeling of comfort that it gave her. No matter what happened, being here always felt safe and right. She walked over to her bed, opened the window and looked up.

Above her, the stars danced in their own light, the moon playing hide and seek with the only cloud in the sky. She smiled to herself, taking in the beauty of the night sky. She loved where their house was, no lights around to ruin view of the night sky that always felt like it was alive above her, like the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but better. She flopped backwards onto her bed and closed the window. She was exhausted and before she knew it, she was asleep.

That night, Ginny had nightmares. She spent the whole night tossing and turning and struggling so much so that by the time it was morning, she woke to find herself in a pool of sweat, with scratches all over her arms. She sighed in frustration. This had happened every night since she came home from Hogwarts, since... she pushed the thought from her mind and got dressed. As she glanced in the mirror, she noticed the dark circles around her eyes and grunted in frustration. "I look like I haven't slept" she mumbled to herself. She reached for the pot of cream that she had been given by her Muggleborn classmate and wiped it over the circles until they disappeared. She smiled as she could hear her dad's voice in her head, "Ingenious, those Muggles", she chuckled and ran down the stairs for breakfast.


	2. Chapter 2

"Morning, love," Molly chirruped as Ginny ran down the stairs, grabbing a slice of toast. She shouted "Breakfast" toward the top of the stairs and moments later, the room echoed with the thunder of her sons' feet pounding down the stairs. "Must you make so much noise?!" Molly shouted, giving one redhead after another an affectionate whip around the ear with a tea towel. Then her attention turned back to Ginny.

"How are you, love?" she asked, her voice soft and gentle.

"Fine," Ginny replied, as she bit into her toast, before turning to Ron to discuss something Quidditch related.

Ever since the events of Ginny's first school year, Molly had been almost obsessive in her check-ins with her daughter. She tried to hide it, but it was obvious to the whole family that Ginny's ordeal had affected Molly pretty badly. It was no secret that she had always favoured her daughter, and was extremely protective of her, and that made the pain so much worse for Molly.

Every time Molly saw her, the way her red hair would flitter on the breeze ot the way her eyes would sparkle when she spoke about Quidditch or about Harry; every little beautiful thing that made up her daughter, her miracle, Molly was almost paralysed with pain, with more emotions than she could even begin to explain. It was like a hot fire poker right through the heart or a cruciatus curse over and over again for several lifetimes but folded into moments.

The guilt that Molly held sent her maternal instincts into overdrive. She insisted on speaking to the parents of each of Ginny's friends before they were allowed to send her an owl, and opened each letter that arrived for Ginny, just to ensure it wasn't anything upsetting or worrying.

She insisted on preparing several meals a day for her, sitting and watching as she ate. In fact, several times Ginny had jokingly asked her mum if she would like to feed her. She accompanied Ginny everywhere, until even Arthur with his relaxed, sometimes oblivious nature, started to notice, and had to point out more than once to Molly that she was smothering the life out of poor Ginny.

Molly tried to curb her need to coddle her daughter, but that didn't stop her from asking how Ginny was what felt like a hundred times a day, even if the answer was always the same.

"Fine"


	3. Chapter 3

Ginny's first summer continued in a pretty typical way: letters via owl ending up over the front garden, and her mum shouting "bloody bird", arguments with her brothers, Quidditch games with her brothers, and her waking up to sweaty sheets and more evidence of rough nights. She started to worry about just how much Muggle cream she was having to use to hide her puffy dark eyes, and how quickly it was going down, but at least the scratches on her arms had stopped, she thought to herself.

That morning, the house was eerily quiet as she and her brothers began to prepare for their next school year. Every now and then the quiet would be cut open with a Weasley child screaming, "Mum do you know where so and so is?!" Even with magic, it wasn't easy to pack everything up for an entire year away from home, especially after how last year went. Ginny blinked hard as she tried to push that image away.

She grabbed her school robe and a simple wooden box containing her wand, from the bottom drawer of her chest, and added it to her case. Finally, all the preparation for her next Hogwarts year was over. It would be her last night at home before she started the new school year. She opened her window, sat in the window sill, and looked up at the sky.

***

The journey back to Hogwarts was almost the same as her first: nervous first years, random pranks, and Draco shouting about something that his father would hear about. The start of the term was pretty much the same as last year too, and by halfway through Dumbledore's welcome back speech and the sorting of the new first years, Ginny felt as if the summer never even happened and she never really left Hogwarts.

Ginny was making her way back to the Gryffindor dorms from the Great Hall when the pain started. She muttered under her breath about Dumbledore conjuring stale food and tried to ignore it. As she continued, the pain increased and by the time she had decided to detour to the closest girl's bathroom, she was almost on her knees, grabbing at her stomach and the stabbing pains that were making her vision go black around the edges. She pushed the door as everything went black.

It smelt clean, but not a pleasant clean, the kind of clean that is almost overbearing. The smell forced its way up her nostrils and into her lungs as she inhaled deeply. Ginny could feel the brightness before she even tried to open her eyes, but slowly she opened them.

"Good to have you back dear," a kind voice said. Ginny sat up and looked around, still a bit disorientated. Madam Pomfrey, stood over her with a gentle but concerned look.

"My stomach," Ginny started, "it hurt so much. What happened?"

"Well, dear, you were found unconscious in the toilets and rushed here" Madam Pomfrey replied. "Unconscious? But why?"

She knew Madam Pomfrey was withholding something. It was obvious in the slight paleness in her cheeks and the shake in her voice.

What aren't you telling me?" Ginny demanded.

"Well dear, it would seem that you're pregnant," she finally replied.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: Trigger Warning for non-con_

Fred walked into his room and looked around. To an outsider, it would probably be glaringly obvious, maybe even strange that the room seemed to have a mirror down the middle. Both sides had a single bed with wooden boxes underneath, a chest of drawers behind it with the drawers hanging out, clothes that looked like they were trying to escape from them spread from the drawers and across the floor in almost identical patterns, meeting in the middle.

It wasn't unusual to Fred though. It was comfort, it was home. He plopped down on the bed on the left. The trip home from Hogwarts with his siblings would have been a normal one if it hadn't been for poor Ginny being possessed by Tom Riddle's diary. The very thought of that was like a Dementor, sucking all the happiness out of wherever they were. It was good to finally be home, in a place where the very building seemed to radiate safety. He sighed. It really was good to be home.

He dropped down into the bed on his left, while his identical brother dropped onto the bed on the right. Usually their room is filled with laughter and talking about new pranks, but tonight there was a mutual understanding that neither felt much like talking. In fact, they both rolled over onto their backs and gazed out their windows above their beds.

Not much later, George mumbled "Night, Fred," and before they knew it, both were fast asleep.

It was still dark when the door creaked open.

"Light," Fred hissed, rolling over and assuming it was George coming in from the toilet. The door closed, but before Fred could get back to sleep, a voice whispered, "Petrificus Totalus."

Fred panicked, but no matter how much he tried to wrestle and resist, his body just wouldn't respond. Even though his eyes were open, he could only look up, his eyes as resistant of his wishes as the rest of his body. Laid on his back, in the dark, he could hear his heartbeat echoing through his chest as footsteps approached. They walked up to his bed and removed his covers.

Fred tried to close his eyes, to try and fight, or at least shout "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING?" but he just laid there as his pyjama bottoms were removed, and two soft hands took out his cock that was as stiff as the rest of his body. He could feel himself whimper, but it never made it past his throat. Suddenly he felt heavy, as the intruder climbed on top of him. His body was almost numb, but he was aware of the extra weight and how it squeezed every breath out of him.

His springs squeaked quietly under him for what felt like an eternity. He laid there, reciting spells in his head, chanting them, praying for this to be over. Suddenly, he was aware of the feeling of wet on his cock, and the tingles in his finger tips. He tried to move his fingers as he felt his entire body spasm as he came, just in time for him to grab his attacker. He grabbed their arms, but he was still too weak, his body still rebelling against his wishes from the spell, he managed to scratch their arms as they ran out of his room.

By the time he had regained full control of his limbs, Fred no longer felt like fighting. He just laid there confused and ashamed, wondering why he came if it wasn't something he had wanted. Tears streamed down his face as he rolled over and looked at George who was still sound asleep. George, who had always been there until now. Maybe he really did want it. If he didn't, George would have helped, Fred reasoned as he rolled over and vowed to himself to never tell a soul.


	5. Chapter 5

George lay on his back, listening to his brother's breathing. He knew what had happened the night before, and he was consumed with guilt for not being able to go to his brother's aid. That morning when Fred got up to go to the bathroom, George looked over at the empty bed, and saw the stains of Fred's tears on his pillow. His heart dropped like a boulder in the ocean, and his stomach turned as the guilt intensified. He bit into his lip to stop the tears from falling as Fred came back into their room and chirped a "Morning" as if nothing ever happened. Maybe it's better this way, George thought. Maybe he won't realise how badly I let him down.

The day continued as a normal one. Fred was probably slightly quieter than usual, but not enough for anyone to notice except George. George noticed, and vowed to himself that he wouldn't let it happen again. He would prepare, and if anyone tried to sneak in and hurt his brother this time, he would be ready, and he would kill them without hesitation.

That evening after dinner, George slipped some sleeping potion into Fred's tea. As soon as his brother fell unconscious, he swapped beds and pyjamas with him, and carefully placed his wand under his pillow. He closed his eyes and went over his plan, occassionally mumbling to himself, reaffirming to himself that he can do this, that he is strong and he will defend and protect his brother. He kept mumbling until he eventually fell asleep.

It wasn't a noise or even the cold tip of the wand that woke George up. It was the voice, that voice that echoed as if it were almost two in one, but both so familiar. He tried to separate them, to place where he knew each from. It couldn't be, could it? Before he could figure it out, before he could even reach for his wand, the familiar voice whispered "Imperio," letting his arms to slacken and his eyes to widen, like a robot awaiting its master's orders.

"You will do whatever I tell you to" the voice commanded.

The intruder ordered their new servant to undress the boy who was asleep across the room. George walked over, his body reacting like a puppet with invisible strings, his eyes unresponsive and dull, and pulled off his brother's pyjama bottoms.

"Good," the intruder said, flicking their wand towards him, causing the sleeping boy to get an erection, before climbing on top of him, causing his erection to slowly disappear inside of them. They bounced slowly, grunting and moaning for a while before dismounting.

"Now, turn him over," the voice commanded, "it's your turn."

George, still puppet-like, obeyed, flipping his brother over, and with a solitary tear falling down his cheek, forced himself into his brother, without any lubrication. The pain from the entry was enough to cause George to whimper, even in his puppet-like state. He started off slowly at first, but soon he couldn't help but pick up speed, until he eventually spasmed, coming inside Fred.

"Now lie down," George's controller whispered. He did as bid, feeling his knees creak and his back twinge. It hurt, everything hurt, but that was somewhere off where it couldn't touch him. He was emptiness, he was numb, floating in a sea of nothing.

He felt someone settle on top of him, enveloping his already-used cock into somewhere slick and smooth. They bobbed up and down on him, drawing suppressed grunts from his chest. Somewhere deep inside him, he cried and struggled, but his body only lay there, the supposedly willing recipient of his assailant's ministrations. Before he knew it, he had come again, his body exhausted and spent while somewhere deep inside he could do nothing but cry.

The intruder got off him and walked to the door, pointing their wand to release him from the clutches of the Imperius curse. He laid in Fred's bed, paralysed, as the memories flooded over him, and the reality of what had just happened started to work their way into his consciousness. He wanted to scream and cry and punch something, but his body just wouldn't respond. He laid there replaying it over and over, noticing the various pains that were now making their way back from his body into his consciousness, and he felt weak with nausea. That couldn't be real. Could it?!

Eventually, he managed to get up, and change the now bloodied sheets on both the beds in the room. He decided that tomorrow he would deal with them. He would burn them so there would never be any evidence of what had happened, and maybe, hopefully, the sleeping potion was strong enough to ensure his brother never found out either.


End file.
